


A Lovely Night in Valentine

by arthurmorgan-s-heart (Silverblind)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, F/M, Female Reader, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slightly - Freeform, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, not like black out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18480016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/arthurmorgan-s-heart
Summary: When you don't return before sunset, as you had said you would, Arthur goes looking for you.





	A Lovely Night in Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request fill from my tumblr blog. Uploaded here for convenience - find me on tumblr - arthurmorgan-s-heart
> 
> Original request text: "omg can you do an arthur x (female) reader where it’s essentially a “Lenny?!” situation all over again and he has to go pick her up from town and stop her from causing a ruckus and she convinces him to join her on her drunken shenanigans. perhaps NSFW if possible 👀 love your work so much 💕"
> 
> This doesn’t exactly follow the prompt, but it’s what came to me.

Arthur worries.

He would never admit it, but he does - he worries, about everything, and everyone (even Micah, God damn him).

But he worries about you most of all - another thing he would never admit, though for different reasons, reasons that have his heart aching every time he sees you. He doesn’t need anyone teasing him over an unrequited crush.

So when sunset comes and goes that day without a trace of you, after you’d told him you’d be back from Valentine before dark, Arthur _worries_.

He tries to dismiss it at first, to put it out of his mind; you can take care of yourself, after all - you’d proven that many times over. Still, he finds himself growing more and more restless with every hour that crawls by, his mind making up scenario after scenario even as he tries his best not to assume the worst: had you been injured? Captured? Arrested? _Killed_ ? Even his journal does not calm him as it usually does; every word he writes feels awkward, every pencil stroke clumsy and wrong. He heaves a frustrated sigh as he strikes out yet another sentence, staring down at the page filled with crossed out drawings and scribbled strings of nonsensical words for a moment before flipping his journal closed and standing up from where he’d been sitting on his bed. He had to know where you were. He had to be _sure_ you were alright.

He’d never forgive himself otherwise.

The camp is almost silent as he crosses it in long strides, most people having retired for the night already, though a few are still sitting around the campfire, talking in hushed tones. He saddles his horse quickly before anyone can questions him, climbing up hurriedly before spurring his horse into a quick trot and leading it out of camp, his thoughts so focused on you that he doesn’t hear Lenny call out to him as he disappears between the trees.

The journey to Valentine takes less than an hour, but even as he pushes his horse into a gallop, it seems to Arthur that half the night has gone by before he finally reaches the town, his thoughts racing all the while.

Even as preoccupied as he is, he can’t help but notice the unusual silence - the streets are deserted at this hour, a jarring change from the usually bustling and noisy traffic that plagues the town during the day. He slows his horse from a gallop to a trot and then to a walk as his eyes sweep over the dark buildings, looking for any sign of you. He tries his best to keep his thoughts from growing frantic, and yet he can’t help cursing himself for waiting so long; by now, you could be dead, or taken far away, or -

The soft whickering of a horse interrupts his thoughts as he rides down main street, drawing his eye, and he feels an immense wave of relief wash over him: your horse is hitched outside the saloon, the graceful Arabian mare you’re so proud of. She seems calm despite her usually skittish nature, which comforts him somewhat.

She snorts nervously as he rides closer, though she seems to settle as she turns her head to look at him when he climbs off his horse to hitch it next to her. She was a nervous, volatile thing, easily frightened by strangers and friends alike, but you and Arthur had ridden together so many times that he had become one of the rare persons who could approach her without fear of being bitten.

“Hey there, girl,” he says, raising a hand to pat her neck - she doesn’t recoil at the familiar gesture, as he knows she would with anyone else. He opens his satchel, pulling out a sugar cube and offering it to her. She takes it greedily. “Now, where’s Y/N gone, uh?”

The music and laughter drifting from the saloon draws his eyes, and he feels himself frown - his memories of that place are less than fond. Still, it’s as good a place as any to start looking for you.

In three short steps, he’s standing at the door, and he takes a deep breath before pushing his way in, the warmth and noise of the saloon immediately engulfing him.

The room is crowded - it always is. After all, there’s little else to do in a cattle town in the evening but drink the hours away. His eyes sweep over the crowd - but the faces that greet his eyes all belong to strangers. He sighs before stepping further in, murmuring half-hearted apologies as he shoulders his way through the press of people, his eyes darting this way and that to try and find you. But there are too many people, and it’s too loud, and _God_ , what if you’re hurt, or taken, or -

A loud, familiar burst of laughter shatters the dark train of his thoughts, and he looks to a shadowed corner of the room - where a man is smiling down seductively at -

 _You_.

Despite his relief at finding you safe, he can’t help the jealousy that bursts in his chest at the sight, hot and fierce, and he’s stepping towards you before he can stop himself, coming to a halt just a few steps behind the man in front of you, close enough for you to see him, but not enough to interrupt. You’re smiling and laughing, seemingly very taken with the young man - a thought that has his blood boiling despite his best efforts - , and your eyes flit to Arthur for half a heartbeat before leaving him again. Another moment goes by, just long enough for you to register just who it is you’ve seen before your eyes return to him.

“Arthur!”

He feels almost smug when you stand from your chair and come toward him, the young man you’d been talking to just seconds before seemingly forgotten as you sidestep his attempt at holding you back, your attention shifting entirely. Your smile changes, ever so slightly - it’s warmer now, softer. Arthur is not sure he’d have noticed had he not already known your every smile by heart.

“Hey,” he says, smiling down at you. He can feel the other man’s eyes on him, but he refuses to meet his gaze. “It’s late. Was gettin’ worried.”

You laugh, almost sheepishly, though there is an impish glint in your eyes.

“Sorry,” you say with a smile. “Got a bit carried away. I’ll just - “

“Don’t know who you think you are, friend,” the young man you’d been speaking to suddenly seems to find his courage, stepping closer, trying his best to look intimidating even despite the fact that Arthur is a good head taller than him. He comes to place himself in front of you, between you and Arthur. “The lady and I were in the middle of somethin’.”

Arthur feels anger slowly bubbling up in his stomach, and he finally meets the man’s eyes - he seems taken aback by what he sees in Arthur’s eyes, suddenly a lot more nervous than a mere few seconds ago. Arthur open his mouth to speak, but you come back around to face the young man before he can say a single word, your eyes as dark as Arthur’s, shoving him back with a hand on his chest.

“We wasn’t,” you say lightly, though you make no effort to hide the threat lurking beneath your every word. “Now, get lost.”

He seems about to protest, scowling as he open his mouth to speak, but his eyes flick to your hand as it reaches down every so slowly toward the gun you keep at your hip, and he turns away without a word, leaving you behind.

“Asshole,” you hiss between your teeth before turning back toward Arthur, taking a deep breath to calm your anger.

“Did I interrupt somethin’?” he asks as he follows you back to your table, sitting down across from you.

“Not really,” you answer, waving the waitress over. “He’d been starin’ at me all night like I was fresh meat on a butcher’s block. Was only gonna rob him.” Your eyes flick to him. “You want a drink?”

“Think we better go,” he answers, though he desperately wants to say yes. Even though he would do anything to spend time with you, Valentine’s saloon had not been very kind to him.

“Come on,” you say with a bright smile as the waitress reaches your table. “ _One_.”

Arthur sighs, though he can’t quite hide his smile, taking off his hat and throwing it down onto the table.

“Alright. One.”

* * *

 

“And then - And then - I climb up on the Count, sit up there a second… an’ he just bucks me right off! Didn’t leave me time to grab the reins or nothin’!”

The laughter Arthur’s story earns him is loud, earnest, and contagious; as he laughs along with you, he can’t quite decide if the heat he feels rising in his cheeks is due to the alcohol he’d been drinking for the better part of the last hour, or to the sight you make, with your wild hair, your flushed skin, and your bright eyes.

 _Beautiful_.

The thought almost catches him by surprise. It’s not as if it had never crossed his mind before - it had, many times, in the years since you’d fallen in with the gang. But the thought had always sent his mind into a frenzy before - how dare he look at you in such a way? You deserved better than an ugly old outlaw ogling you at every turn.

Now, though, his thoughts are lightly muddled by drink, just enough to dull the sharp edge of his self-loathing, and for once, he allows himself to look at you, to try and memorize every little beautiful thing about you (as if he hadn’t done it a thousand times before). He looks at the glint in your eyes, the arch of your nose, the shape of your lips, the curve of your shoulders, following with his eyes every line of you he knows he’d never be allowed to touch.

He’s staring, he knows he is, but he can’t bring himself to look away, even when your eyes meet his and you arch an eyebrow at him as a teasing smile blooms on your lips.

“I got somethin’ on my face or what?” you ask playfully, leaning in toward him. The first few buttons of your shirt are undone, and it hangs open with your motion, just enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse of your collarbone and the skin of your chest, invitingly flushed by drink and the warmth of the saloon. He can’t help it; his eyes flick down, and his mouth is suddenly dry, heat blooming low in his stomach as he drags his eyes back up to yours, though he can’t help but linger on your lips for half a second more than he should have. He knows immediately when he meets your gaze again - you _saw_ . The din of the saloon suddenly seems muted, as if walls had sprung up between you and the rest of the crowd, and you’re so still that he almost thinks you’ve stopped breathing entirely. He knows he should say something - explain, apologise, something, _anything_ \- but even as he opens his mouth to speak, he feels his tongue turn to stone at the sight of the heat simmering behind your eyes - a heat that seems to rival the one he feels roaring within him, a heat he had only _dreamed_ to one day see in your gaze. He can only watch as you stand and step toward him, no words passing between the two of you as you simply reach down to take his hand and pull him along with you through the crowd and toward the door.

“Let’s go.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but you know he hears you - and the way his hand tightens around yours betrays his impatience.

* * *

 

You don’t make it very far - you’re not sure you could have, anyway. You and Arthur stumble out of the saloon and down the steps, barely able to keep your hands off each other - the moon is high in the sky, and the streets are as empty as they were when Arthur had first ridden through town, so there is no one to witness him pulling you into the alley next to the saloon and pressing you up against the side of the building.

This is unlike him, he knows it - is it the alcohol that’s made him so bold? Or perhaps he’d finally gone mad. He supposes it hardly matters - you’re here, and you’re looking at him in a way that no one had in many, many years.

Despite his eagerness, his first touch is almost hesitant - hands fluttering about your hips for a moment before he finally allows himself to touch you, drawing you as close as he can manage. He looks at you for a moment before opening his mouth to speak - and you just _know_ he’s about to ask if you’re sure, if you really, _truly_ want him, to ask _why_ , to say he’s not good enough for you - and so you press your lips to his before he can say a single word; that seems to be enough to make him forget everything and anything holding him back, and he’s groaning into your mouth, pressing you harder against the wall behind you as he kisses you like a man starved. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, grasping tight, one bunching into the fabric of his shirt while the other finds the back of his head, keeping him against you.

“Jesus…” you hear him breathe in between kisses, and you can’t help a quiet chuckle as he trails his lips down the side of your neck. You feel his hands leave your hips, coming up to your shoulders before smoothing back down, over your breasts and your stomach, settling at the buckle of your belt. He raises his head to look at you, meeting your gaze, silently asking for permission. You nod, and the belt clinks and falls open easily under his fingers, followed by your trousers, as his lips return to your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his hand reach down the front of your trousers, past the layers of cloth, until he finds the heat of your core, pressing one finger there and drawing a surprised gasp..

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and rough, and you nod, gripping him tighter as you lift one leg to wrap around his hips to press yourself closer. He growls at that, moving up to circle your center, and you muffle another moan, grinding yourself down on him as he traces quick, tight circles that have you shaking and shuddering.

“You like that?” You hear him pant against your ear, and you can’t manage to find your voice, only nodding vigorously as another moan leaves your lips. His fingers slide back down toward your center, dipping inside ever so slightly, and you give a pleading whimper as you cradle his cheek, forcing him to look back up at you. In the darkness of the alley, you can barely see him, though his eyes seem to gleam with a light of their own, and you draw him to you for a heated kiss as he pushes one finger inside you, moving slowly. His thumb comes to press at your center again, and you moan into his mouth, once again pressing yourself against him, trying by any means to bring him closer, _deeper_.

Both of your hands are on his shoulders now, gripping so tight that your fingers hurt, though you can’t bring yourself to care. One hand leaves his shoulder when he pushes a second finger inside you, pressing flat against his chest as you throw your head back and give a breathless moan, moving your hips in time with his hand as sparks spread through you, from the pit of your stomach to the tips of your fingers. You can hear music and voices drifting out from the saloon, but it almost feels as if you’re in another world entirely, a world belonging only to the two of you.

Pleasure builds within you quickly, steadily, and your heart is beating so loud that you can barely hear Arthur’s voice as he whispers quiet praise against your ear, beckoning you further toward your end as you choke out moan after moan, the thought of staying quiet quickly fading from your mind as you feel yourself come to teeter on the edge of your pleasure as it hovers just out of reach for a moment before you finally let yourself fall apart with a long, thin moan, throwing your arms around Arthur’s neck to bring him against you.

“Did so well, sweetheart,” he breathes, pressing a few kisses to your neck as you roll your hips against his hands a few more times, desperate for every last drop of pleasure he can give you. “Such a good girl.”

You give one last shudder at his words before letting your leg fall from around his waist, leaning forward to kiss him long and deep before letting the hand you’d kept pressed to his chest smooth down toward his stomach and the warm, hard line you can feel pressing against you. Before you can reach it, however, his own hand comes down to grab yours, bringing it back up to his mouth before he presses a few feather-light kisses to your knuckles. You arch an eyebrow at him questioningly, and he simply smiles, bending down to kiss the side of your neck as both of his hands find your hips again.

“Another time,” he answers. “Got everythin’ I needed tonight.”


End file.
